Barren
by emeraldoni
Summary: She guessed even the tree of decades—Goshinboku—could die. It hadn’t bloomed since she had touched her trembling fingers to that significant scar on its aged bark, and asked for him to come back.The tree didn’t grant her wish.He never came back.


Kagome always knew one day it would end. Her dream, her escapade through life, her unrealistic adventure, it would all come to an end.

The young miko could never predict the future, she could shoots arrows, and study in a battlefield, she could prepare instant ramen without an kitchen appliances, and she could easily walk a few miles without getting too tired. The future, though, it eluded her…

Or maybe it was blatantly obvious, yet she was deluded by her girlish dreams, her hope of something to come of her feudal fairytale.

She should have know, the obscurity of what was to come was so clear now. Kagome had no grand illusions of what she was, and how she was held in the eyes of others. She was just a stupid little girl, one who was never taken seriously.

She had aged now, still young by her times standards, but aged none the less. Her once glittering eyes were laced with crow's feet, and her once full mouth was left in a thin line.

'_When did I become so bitter?'_

Did it begin when Naraku appeared? Or maybe when Kikyo stole a part of her soul. Or maybe it was everything, wrapped up in a clean, terrible little package. Her mother's death, jii-chan's death, the loss of her friends.

They had never gotten Naraku. Somehow, in their quest for the jewel shards, the evil being had faded into obscurity. And yet, though he disappeared, Kagome as still riddled with hate for the one who had ruined so many lives. He had certainly destroyed her life.

Everything had led to that fateful day at the well, when she met _him._

Why did he have to murder Kikyo? Why did he have to pit the two lovers against one another? Why did he have to rip Kagome's heart into little shreds, then spit on the scraps.

After she had come back home, after the well was left to gather dust from misuse, after she waited day in and day put for that one special person to fest her back, she would muse. Maybe if the couple had never been torn apart, Kagome would be as she would now, and _he _would have been reincarnated as well.

They would have met in a high school, maybe rivals in grades, or just two characters chafing against one another, yet they would have grown together. University would have been a storm of dates and parties and cuddling on a coach in a dark room in front of the television.

One night he would kneel before her under a full moon, and pledge his undying love—with a thick blush and a 'keh'—then ask for her hand in marriage.

They would have been together.

Children would have been produced. They would have aged together. They would have died together.

They would be happy together.

Kagome's (_old) _eyes would tear up, and she would sweep these dreams form her mind just as she kept sweeping the shrine steps.

Sometimes she wondered why she tortured herself with keeping the place. Memories filtered through every corner, saturated through every wall. The stones oozed her mothers humming and her grandfathers ranting and the bounce of her brother's ball. The tree whispered of the inhabitant who once sat in its now barren branches.

She guessed even the tree of decades—Goshinboku—could die. It hadn't bloomed since she had touched her trembling fingers to that significant scar on its aged bark, and asked for him to come back.

The tree didn't grant her wish.

He never came back.

To think they could have split up because of a few misfired words. Kagome's friends were left behind, Shippo was left without family once again… _he _became a longing in the wind, a treasured memory full of pain and bleeding and shame.

"Forget about it, Kagome." Souta would say every time he came to visit, "It's the past. It's over."

She tried. Oh, she tried so hard.

Yet it was not meant to be. The tightness of her chest would not unwind; the bleeding of her heart was yet to be staunched.

The broom, the handle rough against her trembling fingers, made a _swish swish _against the pavement.

Ever day Kagome was feeling more and more like her predecessor. Kikyo. She had even taken to dressing like her, in the hope that _he _would come back and want her.

Seven Years.

Seven Years, three months.

Seven Years, three months, one week.

Seven years, three months, one week, two days.

And four hours.

She had yet to check the minutes, but that was roughly the time between when she had first fallen into the past, her future. Her memories.

Sometimes Kagome would wonder whether it was all a dream, just a figment of her imagination. But then she would stare down at her miko outfit, her hair tied back with a plain white ribbon, and the dry branches of the Goshinboku, and knew all that had passed was real.

The wind, whispering in her hair—it was her hair, right? It was Kagome's hair, not Kikyo's… she knew this all to well—and brushed against her skin.

_Remember…_

_Remember…_

_Remember, my precious miko…_

_Remember._

She wondered whether this was once a breeze that had been shared by _him. _Maybe it held a puff of breath, and spark of life, carried 500 years into the future, only to share this with her.

The wind picked up, causing a groan to shudder through the well house, and Kagome dropped the broom.

It couldn't be him, could it?

She rushed, her breath catching in her throat, and she tugged the door open in a crash that she felt under the soles of her feet.

And then she deflated. Her eyes watered. Her throat constricted. Her heart throbbed, another rush of pain released.

It was empty.

She should have known.

InuYasha had said he would protect her. He said he would come back.

He had lied.

Kagome hugged herself.

It had only been the wind…

She was still alone.

It had only been the wind.


End file.
